


The Hour Of Wicked Dreams

by Cozy_coffee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Community: comment_fic, Drabble, Hallucinations, Hurt Sam Winchester, M/M, Religious Conflict, Sam-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-11
Updated: 2009-08-11
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:28:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cozy_coffee/pseuds/Cozy_coffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for the comment_fic prompt; Supernatural, Sam/any, "The holy water in his hands can never wash away his sins" (Billy Talent)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hour Of Wicked Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tigriswolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigriswolf/gifts).



‘The holy water in his hands can never wash away his sins.’ The voice spoke softly, haunting, a malicious whisper in Sam’s mind. 

Maybe he was hallucinating; maybe he wasn’t. This could be a dream, or it could be real. Sam wasn’t sure of anything at the moment. His stomach clenched and twisted, muscles shuddering; he felt as if he was going to vomit and the taste of bile rose in the back of his throat, yet somehow, he managed to keep his stomach at bay. Sam’s world was spinning wildly and he was breathless, and his body was shaking violently. His hands were bloody, his palms smeared and stained with demon blood. 

Sam shoved his hands under the running water and continued to scrub his skin. It wasn’t coming off, no matter how much soap and water he used. 

Why wasn’t it coming off? Why could he not be rid of his sins? 

Distressed, Sam ran into the bedroom and retrieved the bottle of holy water from his duffle bag; standing back at the sink in the bathroom, he doused his hands, splashing the cool holy water onto his heated skin. He scrubbed harder, digging his nails deep into his flesh, clawing and rubbing, desperate to rid his skin of the toxic blood damping his hands. Still the demon blood remained; a reminder of his sins. 

‘The holy water in his hands can never wash away his sins.’ The voice taunted him, his own voice, back when he was much younger. Back when he was still pure; when he was innocent, before he knew about the monsters that lurked in the world. The voice in his mind cooed at him, nasty and teasing. ‘Unclean, not pure; you are a monster.’ 

Sam was crying now, the tears falling down his cheeks in hot wet droplets. He was dirty and disgusting; an unclean soul that even God wanted nothing to do with. Sam whimpered like a child, a plea for help, whispering Dean’s name. His older brother couldn’t hear him; Dean left, had stormed out after calling him a vile filthy monster. Sam wanted to be in Dean’s arms, to feel warm and loved, and safe; wanted to hold his brother’s hand, to know his sibling still cared about him.

‘The holy water in his hands can never wash away his sins.’ 

“Leave me alone!” Sam screamed as he punched the mirror, shattering the glass with a jarring hit. The mirror splintered but remained intact. Sam bowed his head, feeling defeated; his breath was shaky as his body trembled. He looked down at his hands, blood still coating his flesh. Just one lick; one taste—one small drop to easy the ache. Sam, timidly, brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, lapping up the demon blood like a kitten lapping up sweet cream. 

‘You’re a monster, Sammy.’ 

Sam’s head snapped up and he looked in the mirror, gasping in shock as Dean stared back at him. His brother…with black eyes and a snarl grin on his lips. Not real, couldn’t be; it had to be a hallucination. Sam shook his head, trying to clear it of the fog and dizziness, but the image of Dean still stared back at him. 

“Monster, Sam. You’re a monster,” The mirror image taunted him, snarling like a deadly predator, eyes as black as night. “I tried so hard to pretend that we were brothers; that you weren’t one of the filthy things that we hunt. But you are; you are a disgusting, impure thing. You’re nothing to me. You mean nothing to me, Sammy.” 

Sam sobbed, his soul shattered and his heart broken. He crumbled to the floor and lay there crying, praying...asking to be saved. 

To be pure, for Dean to not look at him with hate and disgust; to have his sins washed away. 

♥ END ♥

**Author's Note:**

> [Written for this prompt!](http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/70912.html?thread=16443904#/t16443904)


End file.
